Be Still
by Falke-ness
Summary: One dark night, five year old Kamiya, Kaoru meets the infamous Battousai. A one-shot. Possible series of one-shots in the future. Enjoy.


**Be Still...**

…_My Hands_

_July, 1867_

She stood outside the shoji door, listening to the familiar and distinct sounds of wooden blades against wood as the students inside training under the vigilant eyes of her father. Feet apart with hands firmly around the hilt, she struggled to swing the blade that was meant for those twice her age. Her stance was unbalanced; arms trembling, heart beating, but resolve firm, she strained to follow the lesson. It was forbidden to her: a young child—a young girl at that. Her earnest desire was often met with disapproval by friends and strangers alike. But let it be known that Kamiya, Kaoru, daughter of Kamiya, Koshijiro, was determined to learn swordsmanship with or without the permission of her father.

She jumped at the sound of yelling. Her father's furious voice was demanding for someone to cease and desist— shouting of dishonor, "DROP IT". Her shinai clattered to the floor. For a moment, she thought that she had been caught, but the arguing voices inside told her otherwise. Ever the curious one, she dared to peek through the door. With a racing heart, she watched as, for the first time in the history of the Kamiya Kasshin-ryu, a student was expelled from her father's dojo.

_December, 1867_

Murderer… he was a murderer- a **manslayer**. She had heard the stories: a demon with eyes of amber which glowed like the fires from whence he came. He was a demon with the face of a child; he killed with no remorse, taking men, women, and children alike. He, who had killed so many that his hair was stained with blood, was Battousai. Everybody knew the stories. '_He comes to snatch wicked little children who don't listen to their elders'._ And it was silly because really… **amber** eyes?

'_Silly. It's silly. He does not exist.'_ This was the chant that ran through little Kamiya Kaoru's mind as she huddled near a small shrine; deep within the forest and shivering with cold, she desperately called for her father. She was wet and tired and hungry. Her foot hurt, '_please… I'm scared.'_ She refused to cry, but as she stayed there, shivering, unable to stand, unable to leave, she felt the tears begun to fall, unbidden. Drop by drop they fell until she could no longer hold back and began to sob in earnest, recalling the events that led her here. Never before had she thought a sword could be so frightening. Always, it had been a symbol of life—of protection. _'Scary,' _she thought, _'it's scary.'_

_A stifled gasp—it must be a mistake. He shouldn't be here. He couldn't be here. Blood—so much blood, tarnishing the floor of the sacred dojo. She watched, frozen. There, in the very heart of the room, her father stood, towering over the hunched form of Hiruma, Gohei. The other students stood crowded together near a wall; one—the source of the blood, judging from the dark red spreading across his kimono, being supported by his companions. This was the training hall of the Kamiya Kasshin-ryu. Such wounds were not possible as real blades were forbidden. And yet there it was—metal glistening on the floor; blood still wet on its blade. It lay at its owner's feet; he crouched clutching his hand—rendered useless by her father's bokken. She shivered at the fire—the rage and hate in the gaze directed at her father. And then it shifted to her. **Fear**— she turned away, desperate to put distance between her that blade. 'Run…I have to run.'_

She hadn't meant to disobey her father. But when she saw those eyes, she could feel her resolve shatter. Desperate to get away, she sought protection. _"You must never come alone,"_ her father had said. And yet here she was, huddled and trembling near the small shrine, having tripped over the ring of rocks that encircled the small clearing as she was running. Fear of Hiruma, Gohei had long since faded away, replaced by the anxiety brought about by the ever approaching darkness. As time passed, her pleas for help remained unreturned; her voice drowned out by the storm, her imaginative mind repeated the tales so often whispered amongst her father's students. As the shadows grew, every movement- every sound- invoked the memories of those tales- Battousai.

A snap. She stifled her sobs, desperately trying to still her body—to not be seen. _'He's here! He's here! Please… please, father! Save me!'_ She peered into the darkness through trembling fingers. Amber eyes peered out from a ghostly-pale face plastered with rain-darkened hair—red like fire. The tip of his katana pointed towards the ground, water dripping and sliding down its sharp edge. The slack grip was no reassurance. He paused outside of the ring just as she cried out, "Please—don't!"

Afraid her gaze would provoke him, she buried her head under her trembling arms. "I'll be good! I promise," she whimpered. Faintly, she heard the sound of a click. _'Safe…' _she thought, '_I am safe._' No evil could enter here. The circle of protection could not be breached, she reminded herself. Her breath caught- footsteps. "No, no, no, please don't,' she softly chanted, and yet still, the sound of approaching footsteps continued. And then she was screaming and flailing as he lifted her from the ground, one arm beneath her legs and one behind her back like a bride. **Demon**. He was a demon, '_he's come to take me away.'_ She fought: screaming, clawing—biting.

He did not let her go. His grip only tightened, holding her against his chest; she clawed at his chest—vivid red lines criss-crossing against pale skin. Faintly, through her struggles, she could hear a voice: soft and warm, "Sssshhh…. Be still little one, be still. It is gone, see? It is gone." And then he was a rocking her and she was sobbing, and he was right; the blade was gone. She clutched at his kimono with shaking hands. Her body, all fight having fled, continued to trembling as he carried her, slowly relaxing under his reassuring voice, "This one will not harm you. Rest, you are safe… Be still; this one's sword will not harm you."

In the distance, she could make out the lights of the dojo; she could hear the frantic calling of her father. She did not have the energy to shout back, but she knew that this man would bring her there. With each step he took, she could feel her eyes grow heavy. Peering up at him, she murmured, "thank you." Her last memory, before a curtain of sleep overtook her, were warm violet eyes gazing down at her… a whispered voice, "Rest little one… be still."

_March, 1878_

'_Breathe… 1-2-3…exhale. I can do it—I can do it.' _Her knuckles tightened over the handle of the bokken that trembled in front of her. Try as she might, her hands would not be still._ 'You can do it. Kaoru, you can do this… __**go**__!' _Heart racing, hands trembling, mind consumed with terror, Kamiya, Kaoru jumped from her hiding place to confront the man who dared to besmirch the name of her father.

"Prepare yourself- Battousai!"

Blue eyes met amber, and for a moment, in that split second when their eyes locked and the wooden blade was centimeters from his head, Kamiya, Kaoru knew that something had happened. Something had changed.

And for a moment, when she reached down to help this stranger up and he reached to grasp her hand, for a moment, just a moment, her hand stilled: breath caught, heart stopped.

But then their hands touched; amber eyes melted to violet. She helped him up, hands dropping as though burned. Blue eyes searched bluer skies._ 'Breathe…' _Eyes close. '_Familiar.'_

With a half-laugh, half-sigh of relief, blue eyes met violet. Hands clasped together, she bowed low, murmuring,"I am so sorry…"She hoped he would not notice, _'be still, my hands. Be still.' _

"Oro?" A smile.

Relief.

* * *

Words: ~1337

AN: I read somewhere that Kaoru's birthday was in June 1862. In relation to this story, that would make Kaoru five years old in 1867. It should also be the same year that Kenshin started his vagabond's journey. Initially, this story was supposed to be the first in a series of one-shots. These one-shots would be unrelated aside from the connecting theme of "Be still." However, I am horrible with commitment when it comes to writing, so I honestly don't know if there will be another one anytime soon or if at all. But any reviews would be greatly appreciated. I enjoy constructive criticism.

Also, it's been a very, very, long time since I've written anything that wasn't work related or academic. I've tried my best, but I'm pretty sure this one-shot is still riddled with grammatical errors and what not. I'm particularly bad at correct comma usage. Despite that, I hope you all still enjoyed it. I did not have a beta-reader, so if anyone is up to helping me edit this, I would appreciate it.

Thank you for reading,

Falke


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